


Ground Control

by bowlingpin



Category: Space Oddity - David Bowie (Song)
Genre: 1969, David Bowie - Freeform, Drugs, Major Tom, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:21:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingpin/pseuds/bowlingpin
Summary: 1969 - The year of Emissary Capsule Six (and drugs)





	1. Prologue

Four days have passed since the departure from Earth. A precisely planned mission into space; two men and a round trip to the moon and back. Four days ago, the sixth emissary capsule departed from Los Angeles in hopes of a safe and carefully calculated journey. The two men sit on opposite ends of the space capsule. One sits with veins throbbing in withdrawal. The other pretentiously remains alert but notices the slowing rate of his heartbeat.

Two days later, the second man dies of heart failure. The first man stands over his body unsure how to deal with his unconscious-looking partner. A few dazed moments lead to the man crouching down to check the other’s pulse. Sure enough, his fingers touch cold flesh. There is no beating sensation, proving that he is dead. The man stands, wondering if his partner has any remaining brain activity. He decides it unethical to stand over a dead body pondering its level of deceased.

A pang of guilt runs through him as he thinks to himself, _Now I am free._


	2. Chapter 2

In Los Angeles, passing by a dark alleyway filled to the brim with drug dealers is not uncommon. The plethora of sketchy beings lurks in the city’s crevices, trusting users know where to find them. Day and day go by; many transactions are made. Thousands of dollars of cocaine, heroin, LSD, cannabis, ecstasy, ketamine, and sedatives are sold daily.

Tom is a simple man. His drug usage is unknown considering the deathly beating he would receive from his wife and friends. Tom does not need the drugs. He does them because he wants to, not because he needs to. Addiction, by definition, would make him feel compelled to stuff his body with illicit substances whenever sober. He knows he can function on and off drugs. Therefore, addiction is out of the question.

A simple man leads a simple life. A simple life progresses and eventually turns into a happy life; retired at sixty and living in the now summer beach home with a pretty wife who still looks around forty. Tom rarely thinks about the future, though. Why think about what hasn’t happened when he knows how to feel good now?

Tom likes to convince himself that he is in fact a good person. The start of his kind nature was in third grade when he helped the teacher wipe the desks down every day after school. Only a nice person would do such a thing. Nice people deserve a reward, or so Tom thinks. It eases the intrusiveness of other thoughts; works like a charm. 

Since the drug rates increased, especially in Los Angeles, Tom has scored a higher level of employment due to co-workers dropping out of their positions. He flicks his office radio after sitting at his desk, the clunky-looking device switching on instantly. _Strawberry Fields Forever_ by The Beatles crinkles out of the screaming speakers. Tom smiles a bit to himself. It has always been his favorite Beatles song -- well since it came out two years ago.

Humming to himself, Tom takes the cup of coffee his assistant, Jamie, has placed on his desk. Absentmindedly sipping, he checks the daily stocks and proceeds to use the bathroom at exactly nine-seventeen AM like always. 

The cup grows colder without warming hands smothering it. It seems to scream after Tom, pleading for him to stay. Tom does not hear the frantic cries, for the cup is only a cup, and Tom is only Tom. His tread becomes quicker in fear that he is being followed.

Before drugs, Tom was not a paranoid man, in fact - quite the opposite. His laid-back lifestyle had been frowned upon, earning him the ‘advice’ of many. He supposes his new uptight demeanor shuts up those who would drown him in suggestions. He slips his hand around the brazed metal, swinging the door open just enough to slip inside stealthily. 

“Fancy running into you Tom.” His dealer cracks a smile, rummaging through his pockets. 

Roy - the man in the mask. He veils his true mien and allows no one to wander into his mind. Tom has never once seen Roy, his dealer, without his mask. He imagines the peculiarity of reaching for an imaginary tarp each day before leaving the house. Not able to figure out Roy does not disinterest Tom. Despite the circumstances, Tom considers him to be a friend (one of his only).

Roy pulls out a small plastic bag filled with an off-white powder. Following the bag, he takes another small pouch of a brownish tar-like substance and places it on the counter. Tom’s eyes widen, but not in fear; never in fear. He looks at the drugs with lust, aching to feel their effects. 

As soon as Roy tightens the band around his arm and plunges the needle into his veins, Tom fills with a buzzing sensation. The needle, now in the trash, seems to hastily depart. Roy once again places his mask on, leaving Tom to realize he has indeed seen Roy maskless.

Roy only reveals what is under the imaginary tarp when administering substances.

Like always, Tom waits in the bathroom for another half hour to feel the full extent of whatever has been inserted into his bloodstream. He fizzes in and out of a dazed state, the aphrodisiac buzzing through each joint and ligament. Tom suddenly realizes how intense the buzzing is becoming, especially in his stomach. Waves pulse through his body, sending shocks of bliss straight to his pants.

The unavoidable ‘side effect’; the indefinite arousal that builds off the familiar dazed feeling. It being another part of the joyous process, Tom thought nothing of it - in fact, he never did once stop to ponder the possibility of the arousal stage never occurring. 

Once finished dealing with the arousal stage, Tom enters The Haze.* 

Tom exits the bathroom, sitting back down at his desk. No one has seemed to notice his odd daily schedule. But, by four PM (when he leaves to go home), he will no longer be affected by the substances that pool his bloodstream. 

The old desk radio hums along to a new Led Zeppelin release, _Babe I’m Gonna Leave You_. Tom has already taken a liking to the song, believing that it connects perfectly with the feeling of dousing himself in lysergic acid and pure ecstasy. 

The day drones on as the mix of heroin and cocaine wear off. The cocaine leaves the body first, leaving Tom in a lethargic state as the heroin is slowly flowing out of his system. He misses the initial sensation, but agrees that he does not need to feel it. He is perfectly happy closing his manila folder of paperwork and heading home.

The walk home, uneventful as always, takes no more than ten minutes. Tom turns onto his street, not bothering to look for oncoming traffic. He walks up the single step to the front door, noticing how much heavier his body has felt lately. He shakes his head to himself before turning the knob.

  
A woman with platinum hair greets Tom, taking his bag and placing it on a hook next to the door. She smiles at him before returning to the kitchen to cook dinner. Tom avoids eye contact (something he’s been doing recently) and sits on the couch.

  
The woman, who he realizes is his wife, Angela, sits next to him a half-hour later as he’s flipping through channels. She hands him a plate before taking her own. Tom tries to present himself as unavailable for discussion, but his wife sees through the act.

  
“Tom, did you hear about Emissary Capsule Six?”

  
The tired man shrugs his shoulders.

  
“Do you ever pay attention to your work, Tom?” She almost seems frustrated at him.

  
He finally looks up to catch her eye as he stuffs a large mouthful of baked potato down his throat. Sloppily still chewing, he replies:

  
“Uh, I don’t know.”

  
“You’re going into space, Tom.” She replies tersely.

* * *

 _ ***The Haze**_ : _A state of being whilst under the effects of drugs such as hallucinogens, heroin, etc. The Haze refers to the point at which the body’s ability to function returns, but the buzz of substance remains very much present in regulatory processing._


	3. Chapter 3

Tom stares at the pages the typewriter produced just moments ago. Jamie, his assistant, hands him his third cup of coffee. There is no time for fun in the bathroom this morning. He studies the smudge of ink his thumb creates as he runs it across the freshly printed lines. This earns him a scolding remark from Jamie.

Coarsely rolling his eyes, Tom pushes the pages away. The intrusiveness of his thoughts grows louder than ever before. This newfound cesspool of awareness increases with the lack of sedative substances, leaving Tom angry and withdrawn.

Finally, after Jamie prints the pages for the third time (this time waiting for the ink to dry before handing them to the sulking man), Tom reads them.

“Thomas Jones stop fooling around.” Jamie clucks.

Tom glares back at her, pulling the first page in front of him.

~

**_Space Mission:_ ** _Emissary Capsule Six_

**_Date of Departure:_ ** _July 11th, 1969_

**_Members:_ **

  * _Thomas R. Jones_
  * Roy H. Davis



_Chosen by exceptional work ethics as seen by fellow employees of NASA and confirmed by Thomas Otten Paine, head of NASA inc. for the 48th year in a row. Studies have confirmed the health records of these individuals as provided by physicians and state doctors._

_~_

The paper continues, but Tom refuses to read the rest. He wonders if this is a joke. ‘Studies have confirmed the health records of these individuals…’ What health records? Why him? And more importantly - why **_Roy?_ **

“I’m going home, Jamie.” 

She stands from her desk, looking at him.

“Tom, I think it would be better if you stayed.” There is urgency in her voice, leading Tom to sit back down at his desk with a groan. 

\----

The next few weeks are brutal. The lack of illicit substances drives Tom close to the edge of insanity. He never sees his wife anymore due to long hours of training. He wonders if he would be able to fake his death or avoid the public eye long enough for them to believe he was in fact dead. 

These thoughts cease instantaneously after Tom’s inquiry with Roy on a conventional Wednesday afternoon.

“I do not remember consenting to this.”

“Tom I have a plan.”

“I want to go home. I want to see my wife. I want heroin, Roy.”

“That’s my plan.”

“What is?”

“The capsule has a safe in the back. Every day I’ve stuffed a little bit of something in there. No one has noticed.”

“Really?”

“Really. That means that when we’re up in space we can get as high as we want an’ we ain’t gotta worry about gettin’ caught in the bathroom.”

“You’ll share with me?”

“We’re friends, ain’t we, Tom?”

Tom nods eagerly like a puppy, longing to lap up whatever Roy has stashed away. Despite the tiring work hours and training, Tom feels he now has something to look forward to. The imagery of taking hallucinogens in space causes him to drool with desire (sometimes literally) until snapped out of his trance.

Each day consists of practicing low gravity levels, learning to eat food probable for space, and trying on a multitude of suits. Tom doesn’t mind trying the food or practicing low gravity levels, but he finds himself dreading the idea of putting another spacesuit on. Still, though, that doesn’t stop him from attending every training and meeting in regards to his mission. He wants to get up there and he wants to fly past the stars. 

More importantly - he wants to stuff his body with heroin until he sees stars in the stars and moon dust on his fingertips. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I'm a teenager and have no idea how to write. Excuse my lack of proper tense, grammar, and word choice. I have no one to edit my work so for the most part it's unedited. Apologies.  
> (Cool fun fact: My name is Major. That's the reason I had this idea).


End file.
